


Queen for a Day

by BristlingBassoon



Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Crossdressing, Dick Winters overthinking everything again, Dick Winters' beloved Sears Catalogue, Discussion of trans identities, Fluff and Smut, Lewis Nixon in drag, Lingerie, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Crossdressing, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, light roleplay, sexual fantasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:21:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28843752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BristlingBassoon/pseuds/BristlingBassoon
Summary: Dick taps on the other photo on the page - a slightly out-of-focus snap showing a group of rather raggedly dressed women, leaning on each other and laughing, as dishevelled and giddy as if they’ve just staggered off the roller coaster at Coney Island.“Who are the young ladies?”Lew turns those dark eyes on him, and says steadily, “Look again, Dick.”
Relationships: Lewis Nixon/Richard Winters
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	Queen for a Day

**Author's Note:**

> A Lewis Nixon crossdressing fic, yay!
> 
> Named after the "Queen for a Day" ruling, which stated that if a member of the US military was caught having sex with someone of the same sex, they'd be let off the hook if they could prove it was a momentary lapse in judgment that didn't reflect their character - ie claiming to be drunk. Got nothing to do with this fic, obviously, but I just thought it was funny, historical US military policy surrounding homosexuality being one of those things where if you didn't laugh, you'd cry.

The letter arrives on a Wednesday. Nice envelope, heavy cream paper, marked with the Yale crest. Dick hands it over to Nix, who carelessly tears it open, ripping right through the stamp. As he unfolds the paper his face lights up with a delighted grin.

“What is it?” says Dick, turning his attention to his own correspondence. A letter from Ann, with photos of Joan’s birthday, how lovely -

Lew turns the letter around, waves it at Dick. “It’s the ten year reunion of the Whiffenpoofs!”

Dick looks up and frowns. “What’s a Whiffenpoof when it’s at home?”

“It’s my acapella group! From Yale.”

“Oh, from _Yale_ ,” Dick says, affecting an insufferable tone.

“Oh shut up, you,” Lew says. “Here. I’ll show you some photos.”

He goes to where they keep the albums, and fetches a navy volume with a card pasted to the front marked YALE in Nix’s handwriting. Rather ruins the effect of the leather binding, but Dick expects this isn’t something a young Lewis Nixon would have taken into consideration.

Nix opens the album and immediately chuckles. “Oh look, there’s Brewster! Wonder how Daddy’s law firm is treating him, whether he’s expired from boredom.” He turns the album to Dick, revealing a corn-fed, blonde fellow in a pale sweater, laughing, his arm around Nix’s shoulders. “Christ, we look young.”

Nix turns the page, still holding the album up like he’s doing story time in the children’s reading room. Each page has photographs of different configurations of young men, mostly dressed in tuxedos. Nix is sometimes present, sometimes not. One thick page is flipped after another, until Dick makes an exasperated sound. “Hey Lew, if you want me to share in your college reminiscences, how about I actually sit next to you and we can look at the album properly?”

He doesn’t mention that he’s only got about five photos of his own college years. Spent most of them studying rather than being social, and it didn’t seem right to waste the film.

Lewis casually flips a page with a flick of his hand. Dick leans over to look. Photo of a young man outside the entry to some kind of drinking establishment. Dick taps on the other photo on the page - a slightly out-of-focus snap showing a group of rather raggedly dressed women, leaning on each other and laughing, as dishevelled and giddy as if they’ve just staggered off the roller coaster at Coney Island.

“Who are the young ladies?”

Lew turns those dark eyes on him, and says steadily, “Look again, Dick.”

So he looks again, and those spirited young ladies metamorphose in front of his eyes into men.  
Young men, dressed in cadged and borrowed dresses, wigs and hats and stockings and mirth. The same young men he’d seen on the previous photos, blonde and dark and slim and tall, sporty, stout, men leaning on each other and laughing as they pretend to be something other than men. For what? A joke, Dick supposes, one of those eccentricities tolerated in the young, especially when the young have prospects and privilege and are attending Yale just as their fathers and grandfathers did.

One of them is Lewis Nixon.

He spots him second from the right. A slender figure, dark eyes alight with laughter, wearing a white dress in a way that should be silly but has a certain dignity to it. He’s not making a show of wearing a dress, isn’t striking an affected pose or shrinking as if he wants to hide, just wears it as naturally as if it were any other clothes. Dick has never imagined what wearing a dress might feel like - call it a lack of curiosity on his part - but now he’s picturing the way that rayon might feel brushing against bare thighs, the press of suspender clips.

Nix is still looking at him. He feels his own face begin to burn.

Nix takes the album and thumbs through a few more pages in quick succession, before smirking and opening the album out nice and flat on Dick’s lap. “You’ll love this one,” he says, his voice all caramel.

The last photo was blurry and fleeting. This one is perfectly composed. If he were to describe it, he’d say it was of what appeared to be a young woman in a dark dress and fur-trimmed wrap, with long, dark waves of hair, and a face, Lewis Nixon’s face, made up like something from Hollywood. Dark, cupid lips. Long, lustrous eyelashes. The edges of masculinity still present in her face - the strong jawline, the heavy brows - don’t make her unbecoming. They make her striking. A gloved hand is lifted to her - his - face, fingertips brushing against her cheek. The effect is stunning, and Dick, in turn, finds himself stunned.

“Blanche took it,” Nix says. “Thought it was hilarious to doll me up like that, but I can’t say I protested.” He smirks again. “Well, what do you think?”

“Very, uh, convincing,” coughs Dick, and hands the album back.

He shifts away, back to his own chair and abandoned book. They lapse into silence, uncomfortable on Dick’s part, full of fond reminiscences on Nix’s. As far as he can tell, the man’s chuckling lightly while turning pages in the album, seemingly unperturbed by Dick’s sudden flintiness. The quiet is only broken when Nix gets up to fetch another cup of coffee, and a refill for Dick, which he brings without asking. Dick tries to turn back to his novel, but can’t seem to concentrate on Du Maurier’s words. Something about a dress from a portrait. A dress.

He pictures the portrait, the dress, and imagines Lewis Nixon in it. He pictures the beautiful dark-haired vivacious Rebecca, and can only conjure up Lewis Nixon from the photograph. The unease from the book is contagious.

“How’s that book going?” Nix suddenly interjects. “Me personally, just couldn’t picture all the rhododendrons. What do they look like again?”

Just like Nix to be fixated on the garden’s gaudy impenetrable shrubs rather than narrative, Dick thinks.

Lew grunts and puts away the album, reminiscences clearly over. He picks up his own book, an armed services addition that he’s already read about three times and is barely holding together. It has the suggestive title of _Is Sex Necessary?_ Dick’s had enough experience with Lew to know that in his case, it might not be a necessity but it’s certainly a pleasure worth having.

He stares back at the pages of his book, seeing the words rather than reading them, and lapses into what Dr Watson might have called “a brown study”, a true fog of the mind, where thoughts might just wander in unbidden, thoughts liable to disturb even the most staid of men. In his case, it’s a vision of the woman from the photograph, the woman who is the man in front of him.

Imagine her, stroking his cheek with that gloved hand, wordlessly undressing him. Her kiss on his lips, leaving red at the corner of his mouth, and then her purring in a low, measured tone, “bend over for me, won’t you darling?”

The incongruous image of him stripped, on all fours on the bed. The woman behind him. He feels, hears her, her hands on his back, his shoulders, running along his hip. The rustle of a skirt being hitched, and then the unexpected pressing of her - him - inside him.

He realises he’s sweating.

At just the wrong moment Lew looks away from _Is Sex Necessary_ and stares straight into his flushed, hot face.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

His voice is the same low, steady voice he imagined a moment before.

It’s wrong, he tells himself, splashing the coldest water he can wring out of the taps onto his face. Yes, he’s reconciled himself to the idea that the bible might have contradictions, that Jesus might love a disciple in the same book that has a whole town of people being sent to hell for the very thing he now practices regularly. He loves a man, in body as well as mind. He’s come to terms with that. But now - now, his rotten wretched brain has begun to imagine Nix as a woman, which is a whole new form of deviance.

Deviance would be fine on its own terms, he thinks. Nix certainly wouldn’t be averse to it, he can hardly imagine him shrinking from anything outre - but this, this is its own specific form of wrongness he can’t put into words.

He loves Nix. Truly. Wholeheartedly. But if Lew begins to think that Dick is deep down so repelled by another man’s body against his that he has to will it into womanliness to convince himself it isn’t disgusting - that’ll wound him like nothing else. No matter Dick’s experience with ladies before, how he never seemed to get much heat out of it. No matter that it’s not women who excite him, it’s Lewis Nixon got up as one.

No. Nix will see the implication of Dick’s excitement as proof that Dick would rather something else. He’ll have to bury it. Never think of the damned photo again.

He can’t tell him.

Dick manages to let the thoughts rest, and by the end of the month he’s nearly put it out of his mind. Dick nags Lew about needing to get his hair cut before it gets so in his eyes that he crashes the car, Lew prods Dick about booking that dental appointment he hasn’t got around to. Dick gets a cold, Lew forces him to stay in bed for a whole day, ignoring Dick’s protests about how he’s climbing up the walls in boredom. He gets better, but not before he gives it to Lew, who spends the whole week glowering and miserable, only cheered when Dick gets home from work and strokes his forehead and makes him hot drinks. They go to work like always, and if there’s anything that puts Lady Nix out of his mind it’s seeing his fellow hauling bales and covered in bits of hay. Then one Saturday afternoon Lew begs off early, saying he’s got something he needs to do at home, and that if Dick asks what it is, that’d be telling, wouldn’t it? Dick just says “of course, Lew,” and watches the surprise leap in Lew’s dark eyes before he grins, pats him ever-so-briefly on the hand and leaves in a jingle of keys.

He walks home an hour later himself. Lew’s taken the truck, which is slightly inconvenient in this weather. It’s a little too cold for the walk to be pleasant, with a light but freezing drizzle striking his cheeks and nose. Lew’s birthday has been and gone over a month before, and they’re nearly in November. Most of the leaves on the trees have gone, only a few stubborn brown ones clinging on. Not adding much cheer to the walk, exactly. There aren’t even any birds out. Must be hiding from the rain.

His goodwill towards Lew and his mysterious errand has all but vanished when he arrives in the house and walks in the front room, expecting to see Lew sprawled on the sofa or at the desk writing letters or doing something, anything at all - but the room’s empty, and in the kitchen, the coffeepot’s cold.

“Lew?” he calls. No reply.

Maybe he’s been abducted by soviet agents, Dick thinks, and then scolds himself for being so fanciful.

He walks up the stairs and tentatively opens the bedroom door, only to fall back with a startled gasp. There, perched on the edge of the bed, sitting with knees pressed together shyly, is Lewis Nixon, dressed almost exactly like he was in the photograph.

Dick feels terror-sweat bead on his skin.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” Lew looks up at him with a soft look that could be described as wifely concern. The movement of his eyes reveals mascara, eyeshadow, and the words, they come from a perfect lipsticked mouth. He’s done something to his face too. Some kind of pancake or powder, that blurs the stubble and nearly hides it entirely.

He’s wearing a dark, flowing dress that dips slightly at the neckline. His shoulders are bare, and Dick can see how his arms fade from brown at the forearm to alabaster at the shoulder. No wig, but his hair has been changed subtly, styled in a way that appeals feminine. Some magic with bobbly pins, Dick thinks, now understanding why Lew was postponing haircuts. No gloves, but his nails are painted garnet red, resting lightly on his thigh.

Lew speaks softly again. “Don’t you like it?”

“No! I - uh -“

His heart is pounding now, as he realises Lew must have read something in his eyes. What a fool he was, thinking he could hide it, when the man could always figure him out. Even if the man before him doesn’t look like much of a man right now.

“Come here,” he manages to say, and Lew rises from the bed with an elegance that takes his breath away, the dress falling in graceful folds as he moves. On another man the dress might be a joke, but on him, it seems natural as the air. He lets his hands fall heavily to Lew’s hips, which feel the same even underneath the slippery, unfamiliar fabric, and he forces himself to look at Lew’s made-up face. Beautiful, sensuous lips. Dark, smoky eyes. A strong, defiant jaw.

Is he a she or a he right now? Absurd, to think that a chance of clothes could change a man to woman, but the making of a man is his clothes after all, so why should a woman be any different?

He takes Lew’s face in his hands and gently kisses him.

Lew kisses differently now. Softly, letting Dick dip him, letting him take the lead. Dick moves his mouth to Lew’s jaw, a faint powdery taste meeting his lips. Lew sighs softly, and Dick traces his hands down his body, moves them to his thighs, his legs. He lets his hand slide up Lew’s calf, noticing the feel of nylons against his palm, lets himself look, to realise that Lew’s shaved, and his legs are smooth, silken. Up further. The stockings end mid-thigh, and he’s wearing a garter belt. Of course. How else are you going to keep the stockings up? But the sight of those straps draws the eye upwards, and there’s that expanse of bare, vulnerable thigh, which Dick strokes with the back of his hand and feels Lew tremble. He pushes the dress higher, impatient, and sucks in a breath.

Lew’s wearing panties. White, satin panties. You’d never mistake him for a woman this close, Dick thinks, running his tongue against Lew’s thigh, but there’s something feminine even in this. The bulge seems not rampant, but demure, his cock quietly contained, hidden from view. Dick nuzzles, presses a kiss to Lew’s cock, hearing a soft exclamation in response. He rubs his hand over the front of the panties, draws them tight against Lew’s cock, so he can see the outline of it. Sucks him through the fabric, rewarded by a little gasp.

“Oh Lew,” he says, his breath a feather on Lew’s thigh. Lew rakes fingers through his hair, and he obliges, teasing him, rubbing his cheek against those tender parts, feeling his cock stiffen, no longer so demure.

He holds the skirt of the dress rucked up, out of the way of his face, and looks up at Lew. His eyes are lowered, his face less hesitant. More…expectant. Waiting to see what he’ll do.

Oh, so it’s all on him, now. He presses his lips to Lew’s thigh once again, and murmurs up at him, “you’re so beautiful.”

Lew smiles, and through all of that makeup, Dick could swear he sees him blush.

“Can you fuck me?” Dick says, hands braced against Lew’s hips.

He’s prepared for “yes, anything, sweetheart,” but instead Lew gives him a little frown, hand stilling on Dick’s hair. “Rather spoils the fantasy, don’t you think?”

He scrambles upright, letting Lew’s dress fall over his thighs. Sits on the bed. Lew’s watching him, waiting.

When he manages to speak his voice is hoarse. Must be the hay. Or something in the makeup.

“What’s the fantasy, Lew?”

Lew beams, and sits down beside him. Puts a hand on his thigh. He realises that he’s hardly upholding his half of the bargain. Lew’s playing the part of some glamourous lady, and there he is, a hayseed in his work clothes, chaff still clinging to his chambray. If only Lew had given him a little time, he could have scrubbed up. But it’s just like him to do something impulsive, to want to surprise Dick, knowing that any initial annoyance will just change into delight. He knows him only too well. He, on the other hand - when it comes to Lew, he often feels like he’s catching up.

“Shall I get changed?”

Lew smiles, gives him a kiss on the cheek, which he knows must leave a telltale mark. “I like you like this.”

“Alright. Well.” he clears his throat, voice still feeling a little chalky. Takes a sip from his glass of water he always habitually leaves on the nightstand - the same glass Lew is always trying to tidy away. Thankfully it’s still there. “What would you like to do?”

If he’s expecting something sweet, he’s surprised, because Lew lays out the plans like a tactician.

“I’ve got three we could potentially do,” Lew starts.

Dick nods.

“There’s the one where you’re overcome with lust and you ravish me.” he affects a frightened, feminine voice. “ _No! Stop, you’re hurting me!_ ”

“No!” The idea scares him. Maybe it’s what Lew wants, but he’s not sure if he could tell the difference between Lew’s pretend pain and his real pain, and the idea of hurting him at all, even by accident…

“Alright,” Lew says swiftly, passing over the moment as if Dick had said he’d rather have a cheese sandwich than an egg one. “There’s the one where I’m a lady of the night, so to speak. Very worldly, as I’m sure they’d say in the pulpit.”

He’s not sure that one appeals, although it’s a good deal less alarming than Lew’s first proposition.

“Not into that one either?”

He shakes his head slightly.

“Never mind then. I have a third that might be more to your taste, good honourable man that you are.” Lew grins again, and Dick sees a trace of lipstick on one of his teeth. The first sign that Lew’s achieved less than perfection, that he might have been slightly haphazard. It cheers him. Makes the whole thing feel slightly less engineered. The thought of Lewis Nixon getting ready, carefully easing stockings up his legs, putting lipstick on in haste, maybe trembling a little with anticipation, maybe getting hard, that’s enough to make Dick want to beg. He forces himself to wait, sit on his hands. With all this effort Lew’s gone to, it can’t just be about what Dick wants. It must be about what _he_ wants too, and Dick would be a pretty poor lover if he didn’t wait to see if he too could deliver.

Lew lowers his eyes for a moment, and flicks them up to Dick’s face.

“Or I could be a nice, demure young lady on her wedding night.”

A breath passes between them.

He’s never tried to fulfil a fantasy before, unless it’s something basic like “I’d love you to suck my cock,” and the thought of trying to fulfil some kind of role is a bit…daunting. He’s not a man with experience of theatre. Not even much of a liar either, if you call acting a kind of lying. Plus, he’s not even sure who Lew is in this moment, or who he might want to be.

“Lew,” he says, looking seriously at his companion, straight into those liquid brown eyes. “Are you a lady or a man right now?”

“Darling,” Lew says, smiling. “I’m whoever you want me to be.”

It’s as good an answer as any, and Dick answers with a kiss, soft at first and then a little hungry.

“Or I can just be Lewis Nixon in a dress,” Lew says, when Dick breaks the kiss. He sounds faintly disappointed at the thought.

Lewis Nixon in a dress sounds just fine to him. Better than fine, actually, arousing enough to drive him damn-near wild, but if it’s not what Lew wants, he’ll have to be happy with something else.

“The third one,” he finds himself saying. He’s always enjoyed Lew’s shyness, affected or otherwise. There’s something sweet about it. Contrasts with the usual boldness of the man.

Lew nods, settles himself back on the bed. “You leave the room, and come back in.”

Dick obliges, and uses the opportunity to go to the bathroom first, and wipe his face down. There’s a small red smear on his cheek from Lew’s kiss, he notes. Doesn’t try too hard to scrub it away, just wipes away the day’s sweat, mingled with the frightened sweat from earlier.

He opens the bedroom door again. Deja vu. Lew’s sitting in exactly the same position as before, all feminine modesty. This time, when Dick walks in, he stands up, puts his arms around Dick’s shoulders, kisses him, and as their faces touch, brush together, Lew says in a soft tone, “darling, are you ready?”  
To Dick’s relief, he’s not affecting anything too girlish and squeaky. Just a certain quality in his words. Smooth, soft. Quite subtle, and more convincing than a falsetto would be.

He lets Lew breathe against him, waiting for Dick to take the lead. He obliges, running his hands along Lew’s back, touching his ass. Lew lets out a little noise of surprise, and Dick pivots to trying to stick a hand down the front of his dress. It doesn’t look especially filled out, but given his attention to detail, Dick’s surprised to find Lew’s chest bare.

“Couldn’t get a bra,” Lew murmurs apologetically. “Turns out it’s hard to get one in my size from a catalogue.” He makes a face, mutters something about not being as svelte as he used to be.

“You look perfect,” Dick says. “And how lovely of you to surprise me by forgoing the bra.”

He strokes Lew’s chest and withdraws his hand.

God, what _do_ men do with a lady? Especially on one’s wedding night. Nothing from behind, obviously. No railing. He supposes it’s just purely functional, the man entering the woman, which doesn’t really sound that pleasant for the poor woman, especially if she’s never been touched before. But maybe this doesn’t have to be about most men, maybe it’s about what he’d do. None of the women he’d ever been with were first-timers, and mostly what he remembers was a surprising slipperiness when they climbed on top of him.

“Don’t overthink it,” murmurs Lew, shooting Dick a warning look. “Just…”

“Treat you like a lady?” Dick counters.

“Exactly.”

So he lets Lew take him by the hand and lead him to the bed, and watches as he lies down, face up, his arms reaching to pull Dick down with him, and he, in turn, climbs on top and starts kissing.

“Oh, darling,” Lew murmurs, stroking his face, stroking his hair, beginning to unbutton his shirt.

He kisses Lew along the line of his jaw, lips brushing against his throat, pushes the front of his dress down a little so he can kiss his collarbone. Lew sighs with pleasure, and lets his legs fall open, so Dick gets a tantalising glimpse. He moves his hand down, pushes the dress up, and strokes at Lew’s inner thigh, lets his hand slide along the satin to gently fondle Lew through his underwear. The feeling of his stiffness combined with the soft, slippery fabric is more erotic than he could have imagined. He wants to feel his own cock against the satin, wants Lew to keep it on. He hasn’t even had a good look at his ass in the satin, so he rolls Lew to the side so he can lift the dress and have a proper look.

It’s perfect. The fabric clings to his firm buttocks, revealing everything. Lew moves his thigh slightly, and the sight of that leg in stockings and pantyhose and panties and, oh god, he’d forgotten to think of the garter belt, which spans Lew’s waist with lace trim and satin, and makes him have all kind of lewd thoughts about marking it, because Lew looks so perfect in it all that he just wants to come, and come all over him.

“Oh, I want you,” sighs Nix on cue, shifting his legs again so he’s on his back, legs thrown open, the softness of his inner thighs exposed for Dick to nibble, just to make him yelp, and who cares if a guy isn’t going to give his girl oral on her wedding night, because he can’t resist putting his mouth on Lewis’ cock and teasing him to see if he’ll break character, but instead Lew just says demurely, “Oh, that feels nice,” but there’s a trembling raggedness to that voice that makes Dick want to suck harder, until the panties are soaked and clinging, revealing in explicit detail the head of Lew’s cock, the thickness of it. He’s beginning to grow slick himself, and Dick can see the slipperiness glisten at the tip of his cock, a wet point in the panties.

He’s so hard and he hasn’t even touched his cock yet. Hasn’t had Lewis touch it either, and having him all soft and demure, with legs spread, looking so despicably sexy in ladies’ clothes, more than he has any right to be, he aches so badly for him. He supposes he should get Lew ready, because lady or not, Lew doesn’t have the same equipment, and there is no way in hell Dick is going to knowingly hurt him.

He goes to fetch the vaseline from the nightstand, but Lew puts a hand on his wrist and says softly, “no need, I’m ready.” He feels his eyes widen in surprise, but when he tentatively pulls the panties to the side and begins to ease a hand between Lew’s buttocks, he finds him slick already, relaxed, open. He must have gotten ready beforehand.

“I’m ready, darling,” Lew says again, and Dick takes off his shirt. Unbuckles his belt, kicks off shoes and trousers, tears off his briefs. Feels incongruous, being naked while Lew is clothed, but Lew’s dark eyes slide up and down him as if he’s seeing him for the first time, and his red lips crook into a little smile. “Did I ever tell you how handsome you were?”

“Once or twice,” Dick says, returning the smile, although he’s not so much amused as obsessed with how good Lew looks dressed like this. Just wants to run his hands all over him.

He takes a hold of his cock and begins to guide it, pressing it against Lew, a little tentatively at first. Lew gasps.

“I’ll be gentle,” he says, stroking his thigh, touching him through his panties again.

“That feels nice.” There’s a hitch in Lew’s voice, and he rubs harder, admiring how the satin clings to him. His own cock brushes against the silky fabric and he draws in a ragged breath at the sensation of it whispering along him, so soft, so smooth. He rubs it purposefully now, letting it slide against Lew’s, feeling hardness meet hardness, silk between them, and oh god, it’s so good, he’s obsessed with the added sensation, would be happy with this and only this, but Lew clearly wants more, no matter how much he’s arching and moaning, because he’s giving Dick a little push on the shoulder and saying “Don’t you want to be inside me?”

“Almost forgot,” Dick says. He has to pull the panties aside again. One problem with them is they do complicate things. Lot easier to fuck someone when you don’t have to hold anyone out of the way, but the way Lew looks in them more than makes up for it. He goes to ease a finger into him, only for Lew to say, “I’m ready, really!” with a slight note of desperation. Well, if he says he is he must be, although it feels strange to get straight to it without being the one to ease him open first.

His cock goes in easily, more smoothly than he could have imagined, and Lew’s so hot and slick and open, and when he rolls his hips he feels the clench on his cock, feels him bearing down, he can’t help gasping out “you feel amazing, oh God, oh Lew,” and Lew answering him in kind, in soft moans, hands clasped around his back. He lowers himself down, so he’s lying chest to chest, kissing Lew’s neck, holding the side of his face, kissing him on his sweet mouth. “Oh Lew, oh God, yes.”

Lew gasps and doesn’t say much, the odd breathy exclamation. “Oh,” he says, when Dick thrusts into him hard and deep, forgetting that he ought to be gentle with his new bride. “Oh, you’re so big,” Lew whimpers, but when Dick eases off, tries to slide free to give him a break, Lew just rocks up against him and says “don’t stop, so good, don’t _stop.”_

“You’re so beautiful,” he finds himself saying, tracing Lew’s lips with a finger, watching as Lew’s eyes widen. His mouth falls open, and Dick watches as Lew’s tongue sensually slides over the tips of his fingers, and it’s so goddamn hot he can’t help but whimper himself, crumpling a little, letting his forehead fall to Lew’s shoulder. His fingers fall wetly away from Lew’s mouth. He’s overwhelmed by the clench of him, knowing he’s stretching him and filling him in the way Lew likes, that silken feeling against his thighs and belly, and beneath that, Lew’s hardness, so hot and wet and strong and sensitive, all of those things. He imagines how the panties are going to look when Lew comes through them, whether the come’s going to stay in the fabric or seep through it, glistening, the wet fabric clinging as Lew’s cock spurts through it, and he manages to say “I’m not going to last much longer.”

“Neither am I,” says Lew, with a breathy chuckle. “Oh darling -“ and Dick scrambles to his knees and grabs Lew by the hips, raising them a little so he can thrust inside him even harder. With a cry, Lew shudders, eyes scrunched closed, head turned to the side, as he comes in his panties. It’s even better than Dick imagined. The fabric taut around his cock, clinging, his come flowing though it in spurts, all that wet, creaminess spurting through the panties, on Lew’s stomach, on Dick’s hand, and the sight of Lew’s face and neck tensing, the flush creeping up from the neckline of his dress, and the noises he makes, a soft, short surprised-sounding moan - it just about finishes him off. He thrusts once or twice more, and Lew bears down on him and then he’s filling him, still fucking him as he grows wetter and sloppier, the sounds of every thrust now obscene wet sucking noises, jolting and shuddering as he comes in him, and it’s so good, so damned good, he has to close his eyes so he can even stand it.

Once he’s spent himself he eases himself free and staggers away from the bed for a minute so he can do a cursory job of cleaning up. Just tissues. He dumps them on the floor. It’ll do for now. When he looks back, Lew’s got his hips raised and is occupied with rearranging his panties. There’s a spreading wet stain near his rump, as the inevitable happens, the come trickling out of him. Dick thinks once again of how odd it is that something so abject, so bodily, should be offensive, and yet there’s something beautiful in it, that Lew trusts him enough to let him finish inside him. Besides, it’s damn hot to know how much he aches for it. Once he tried to pull out and Lew locked his legs around his back and said “don’t you dare.” Having been on the receiving end of an orgasm himself, he’s inclined to agree, even if it can be a bit of a mess to clean up afterwards. “You won’t get me pregnant, Dick Winters,” was Lew’s only comment at the time.

“Oh, I wasn’t sure if you’d like it,” he’d said in response.

“I want it in me.” And with Lew’s dark-eyed, hungry look, that was the end of the explanation.

Seeing Lew in come-filled panties shouldn’t be something he wants, and yet he can’t think of many things sexier. Makes him want to start fucking him all over again, even if there’s no way his body can fulfil such a desire.

“How was I?” Lew rolls over to look at him, twisting his upper body, letting his hips stay sideways, knees drawn up a little, the soles of his stockinged feet facing Dick.

“Sexy as hell,” Dick says, and Lew laughs.

He gets into bed beside him, fitting his head against Lew’s shoulder, feeling the muscles beneath the dress.

“Thing I don’t understand,” says Lew, giving Dick a playful darting kiss on the tip of his nose - more lipstick, Dick thinks, hoping it’ll come off with soap and water - “is how come you didn’t just say you thought I looked sexy in a dress? I wouldn’t have shown you the pictures if I thought it was embarrassing, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Dick closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I didn’t - I didn’t think you’d like me thinking of you that way.”

“Like what?”

“Well, if you thought I wanted you dressed like a woman, I thought you’d think that I secretly wished you were one. That I just tolerated you as a man.”

To his surprise, Lew bursts out laughing. “Oh darling! Maybe in wartime, sure, but from what I recall we weren’t meeting in foxholes for a bit of frantic tugging while we looked into the distance and told each other stories about our girl with big tits.” He ruffles Dick’s hair. “It’s been a while, I’m pretty sure you like me.”

“Oh, I suppose so,” says Dick, feeling slightly foolish.

“You’re always worried when you’ve got no reason to be,” Lew murmurs. Up this close, Dick can smell the face powder, mingling with his sweat. It’s comforting to breathe in that scent.

“Well,” Lew says, wriggling sideways a little so that Dick’s head falls free of his shoulder and onto the bed. “I suppose I better get changed out of all of this and scrub up.”

Dick reaches for Lew’s arm. “Can’t you stay with me a little longer? I’m not sure I can bring myself to move.”

“Well alright,” Lew says, settling. He reaches out and strokes Dick’s cheek, and says “Dick Winters,” in a wondering tone.

“Lewis Nixon,” Dick answers, looking at that once carefully made up face, now rather smudged and worse for wear, in a way that doesn’t conceal Lew’s beauty, but rather enhances it. He doesn’t care that he can see the stubble through the powder. On the contrary, he wants to rub his face on it. Wants to smooth his thumb over those heavy brows, reaches up and does so. He couldn’t be more attractive, or more perfect. “In a dress.”

A chuckle. “Yep. That’s me. Lewis Nixon. In a dress.” He lets his eyelids dip and smiles. “So, knowing you, I gather you have some questions.”

“Where do I even begin?” Dick says. He looks down, once again takes in the dress, which is now creased, with what looks like a pulled seam near Lew’s left hip. The nylons, the garters, the panties. “Where’d you get all of this stuff anyway? I can’t imagine you going into Bloomingdales and trying on dress after dress in the fitting room.”

Lew grins wickedly as if it’s all some big joke. “Your beloved Sears catalogue, of course.”

“What, all of it?” Dick raises his eyebrows.

“I guess you’ve never looked at those pages,” Lew says. “Oh you of little curiosity.”

“Well I wasn’t in the market for a peignoir,” Dick says, “although clearly you were.”

“Ha!” Lew chuckles. “Most guys just look at those pages to beat off.”

“People beat off to the Sears Catalogue?”

“Oh please!” Lew’s voice is thick with scorn. “You mean you never did? There’s a men’s skivvies page too, you know.”

Dick can’t imagine being so desperate as to masturbate to the drawings of men in their vests and jockeys but he supposes for some fellows it really is any port in a storm, as evidenced by the guys pulling on each other in the foxholes who apparently weren’t made that way outside of wartime. How odd some people are.  
He suddenly realises the irony of calling others odd when he’s the one who spent a month trying to suppress arousing thoughts of a ladylike man railing him. The image isn’t so disquieting, but now, after seeing how happy Lew was to be viewed as a lady, well, he can’t help thinking.

“Lew,” he says quietly.

“Hmm?”

He traces his hand across Lew’s hair, dislodging a few pins as he does so.

“Is this how you want me to see you?” He swallows. “All the time, I mean?”

Lew crooks an eyebrow.

“You asking if I want to be a lady?”

“Well, the thought occurred to me,” Dick says. Although he’s not sure he understands how that would work, and how he’d feel about it. Anything for Lew, but it would be easier if a dress were just a dress and didn’t indicate anything deeper.

Lew snuggles closer against him, hooking a leg over Dick’s thigh.

“There are girls like that,” he says finally. “Girls with cocks. They dress like ladies, they go by ladies’ names. They’re ladies in every other sense of the word.”

Dick waits for him to continue.

“I had a girl like that once,” Lew says, fondness creeping into his voice. “Met her at a dance. She was real sweet.”

He feels his face colour, imagining Lew all suited-up and handsome, a girl with a secret on his arm.

“Were you surprised?” Dick says.

“No, she told me before we got undressed.”

Dick has the feeling, once again, that there’s a lot of the world he’s yet to discover. “Is that usual?”

“It’s not a good idea to give a fellow a nasty shock,” Lew says. “Might end badly.”

“Oh.” Dick tries not to think about Lewis being bashed, although he knows he’s more than capable of holding his own. But if too drunk, or if there are too many others…well, it could have ended badly. He resist the urge to grip him tighter, to not let go.

Lew continues. “When I was out in drag and someone tried to pick me up, I’d look them straight in the eye and say “you sure you know what kind of girl I am?” Most of them got the hint, and if they looked like they were anything other than thrilled, I’d say goodnight and dance with someone else.”

“So were you…”

“A girl with a cock?” Lew shakes his head slightly. “No, they’re like that full time. Me, I just liked dressing up and feeling pretty.”

He shouldn’t feel relieved but he is, knowing that this is just a new window, not an uprooting of his life. That he and Lew won’t be upping sticks to a new town, falsifying marriage papers, that he won’t have to live in fear that someone will look too closely at his wife and notice something unusual. He would have done it, but it’s better knowing he doesn’t have to.

“Are you happy?” Dick says carefully. “With this? Or do you want something different?”

Lew chuckles. “I love that you’re so ready to reassess your whole life whenever we do anything.” His fingers curl in Dick’s hair, nails lightly raking across his scalp. “Relax, sweetheart. I just like panties and a frock from time to time. I like a lot of other things just as much.”

“I like you in a dress,” Dick says. “You’re pretty.” Pretty isn’t the half of it.

“Oh, I think you’ll find I’m more than pretty,” Lew says in a mock-offended tone, suddenly lunging forward to nip at Dick’s jaw.

“Gorgeous, then. Most stunning woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

“Oh come on, now you’re going too far,” grizzles Lew. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I mean it!” He blushes. “I’m a little…embarrassed by how much I like you like this.”

“Nothing to be embarrassed about, although I do wish you’d seen me ten years earlier.” Lew lets out a sigh. “I was more slender then, pretty young thing. Could fit into just about anything off the rack, whereas now - well, the only bras in my size are matronly enough to drive me to despair. And dresses! Oh, it’s only stoutwear now.” He looks horribly disappointed.

“Lew, look at me.” Dick fixes his gaze on Lew’s face. “Stop it. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever laid eyes on and I like you as you are _now._ I won’t have you putting yourself down.” He reaches down and fondles Lew’s chest through the dress, feeling more than glad there’s no bra in the way. “Besides I’m sure back then you wouldn’t have given me the time of day anyway.”

“Oh so _now’s_ putting themselves down?” Lew scruffs Dick’s hair roughly and then covers him in kisses, Dick yelping in protest, knowing the lipstick’s going to be all over his face and knowing his luck he’ll spend the whole next day looking as red and blotchy as if he’d fallen face-first into a bouquet of nettles.

Once the giggling and squeaking and kissing has run its course, Dick feels like he’s been hit with a wave of exhaustion and begins to doze off, dimly realising that Lew is doing the same, those kohl-rimmed eyes sliding shut. A pin has begun to escape from his hair. Dick reaches up and gently eases it free, but he hasn’t had the chance to put it on the nightstand before he falls asleep.

He’s woken by Lew shifting beside him. He grumbles and reaches for him, ends up fumbling at his hip with a numb slept-on hand. “Don’t go.”

“Darling, I have to.”

It’s so like something said in a parting that he feels strangely emotional, only to swallow back what feels distressingly like tears when Lew suddenly adds, “if I don’t wash up this stuff is going to set like concrete.”

Now that’s not especially cinematic, but it’s still nice to have Lew making faces at him and kicking off his panties, gathering up all the tissues and walking to the bathroom with the whole damn lot of it. It makes him tender to know they share so much, even the messy parts.

He struggles up and follows Lew to the bathroom, wanting to intercept him before he changes out of everything, because he wants the sight of Lewis in a dress just a bit longer.

Lew’s at the sink, running water and getting a washcloth. He doesn’t look away from the mirror, just murmurs “I’ll come back to bed, I promise,” even though he’s kept his watch on and he can see it’s only four pm.

“Don’t take it all off,” Dick finds himself begging. “Not yet.”

“You want me to keep all this on?” Lew says, raising his eyebrows at Dick’s reflection.

“Well yes,” says Dick, suddenly going so rosy in the face he looks like he’s just spent the day in the sun.

“You’re all pink,” Lewis observes, and Dick remembers the first time he heard him say that. The first time they did anything together, a time when they barely managed to get undressed, because Dick was so overcome with his newly discovered lust for Lew that he basically flung himself at the man and humped him. Not very dignified, he admits, and not a romantic first time, but it makes him smile to think of it. Lewis catches his eye in the mirror and smiles as well. Maybe he’s thinking about the same thing.

“I’ll try to be less pink next time,” quips Dick in a droll tone, and Lewis smirks.

“Bet you never thought you’d be doing _this,_ ” Lew says, leaning on the vanity with both hands.

“Yes, I can’t say the thought of fucking you in a dress crossed my mind,” Dick says, only for Lew to add “I can’t say it didn’t cross mine.”

“Really? You cooked up fantasies about me?” He glows to think of it. It still surprises him how much Lew wants him. The most handsome man in Easy, married already, an experienced lover of women and men, and yet he picked Dick Winters, a man who barely even knew what two men could do for each other, and had only had a couple of dutiful encounters with women determined to make sure he didn’t die a virgin.

“Well you’ve clearly cooked up a fantasy about _me_ ,” Lew says, grinning. “Fine, I won’t take it off but you have to at least let me wash up.”

“Deal,” Dick says, and pads out of the room, looking back to see Lew hiking up his dress with one hand and scrubbing about with a washcloth, in a scene straight from the work of Toulouse Lautrec. He’d wonder if Lautrec had ever conceived of such a thing, of a man wearing women’s clothing wiping clean after sodomy, but he distinctly remembers more than one painting of two women in bed, two women kissing, reproduced in black and white in an art book. Lautrec probably knew, he decides, also deciding that Lew would have fit right in to the demi-monde. It’s a shame it doesn’t exist anymore and he can’t take him there.

He doesn’t have long to wait, for Lew walks back in ten minutes later looking freshened up. He’s touched up the lipstick.

“Alright?” His eyes meet Dick, who’s currently flopped on the bed, feeling slightly chilled now that the flush of arousal has left him.

Dick nods. “You look…” He searches for a word. Lew waits, eyebrow cocked. “Astonishing. I still can’t believe it.”

“Well it’s here and now,” Lew says. He goes over to the chest of drawers and ferrets around in the top drawer. Dick watches him, waiting for the reveal of something startling. They share drawers - share a lot of the same clothes, although both Dick and Lew have their preferences in terms of colour and fit - and Dick can’t remember seeing anything unusual in the underwear drawer, but he’s not in the habit of looking very hard. There could be a faberge egg concealed beneath Lew’s socks and he’d never know.

“Ah!” Lew exclaims, and turns away from the drawer holding a pair of silk panties, the same as the ones from before.

“Another?” Dick props himself up on his elbow.

“It was cheaper if you bought two,” says Lew. “Only trying to be practical.” He looks Dick up and down, and makes a show of sliding his dress up his stockinged legs, the sight of which still makes Dick ache to catch his breath. He’s glad Lew isn’t ticklish, because he took such great pleasure in sliding his hand up and down those nyloned calves, grasping at him behind the knee, touching thighs as he pushed at him. Now instead of being demure, Lew’s anything but, with everything on show, although that will change soon as he’s making to put on the panties, sitting down on the edge of the bed so he can slide them up his legs.

Dick reaches over and touches him on the shoulder. Lew turns, and before Dick knows what he’s doing, he says “can I wear them?”

“You want to get into my panties?” Lew says, grinning darkly, but he slips his foot free and hands them over.

They feel oddly cool in his hands. Slippery. Sensual. He shivers as he puts them on, feeling the transgression of them sliding up his legs, over his buttocks, over his cock. He looks down at himself, at how he’s both covered and revealed by them.

“They feel nice?” Lew says, a whisper at his shoulder.

“Yes,” Dick admits. Lew strokes his neck with his nails, and kisses him behind his ear, and Dick could just melt right then and there.

“So what would you like, darling?” Lew says, nipping his ear.

“From behind,” Dick says, face hot. “Bend me over and do it.”

He stands up, stretches a little. Lew rolls across the bed - quite a feat in a dress - and plants his legs on the other side, moving to stand behind him. He can hear, rather than see him, just the impression of him in the corner of his eye. Dick closes his eyes and hears the movement of fabric against Lew’s thighs, feels his kiss on his neck.

“Darling,” Lew says, and Dick doesn’t know how many times he’s said that this afternoon, but every time feels like a little flame in his heart. He never used to say that.

He feels Lew running his hands over his buttocks. Heat rushes to his groin.

“Are you going to be good for me, darling?” Lewis purrs, and god, Dick doesn’t know where he got that from, but he lets out a whimper in response, feeling his cock stiffen at those words.

There’s a light slap on his buttocks. “I didn’t hear you.”

“Yes, I’ll be good,” he mumbles.

“That’s good,” comes that silken voice. “Now bend over for me. That’s it. Good man.”

He braces himself on the bed. Lew is reaching over him, reaching around him, the fabric of the panties is whispering over his hard cock as he bends, and now Lew’s fondling him through them, stroking him with his palm, his whole hand pressing at his cock and balls. “You ready for me, sweetheart?”

God that makes him hard, hearing him say that. Makes him even harder when he hears Lew opening the tin of vaseline. He draws in a sharp intake of breath when he feels the panties being shoved aside, and an even sharper one when Lew’s fingers push inside him.

“There we are,” Lew says gently, evenly, but there’s a steel beneath his words, and Dick knows totally and utterly that he is in control. He drops his head, as if waiting for blows, but the only thing he anticipates is Lewis Nixon taking him. He wants him so badly it aches.

When it comes it comes slowly at first, as Lew enters him with such care it’s almost excruciating. His cock goes in fractions of an inch at a time, and the feeling of it easing in makes him whine and thrust back, desperate to have it filling him, but Lew puts a firm hand on his hip and squeezes hard, and says, “don’t take more than you can handle, sweetheart. All in good time.”

Then it’s in him and he can gasp, faster, please fuck me, please Lew, but Lew wants to make this the most exquisite torture possible. Every sensation heightened. The brush of the panties, the feeling of Lew’s thighs against his ass, the dress hem touching his legs - these small things are almost overwhelming. When Lew reaches out and fondles him again as he fucks, mercifully thrusting harder now, striking the sweet spot inside him, it’s so good he swears, and Lew gives his buttock a stinging slap and says “none of that now, you’re going to be nice and quiet for me, aren’t you?”

He has no time to think about where that came from, what kind of person Lew’s being right now, only time to register that the slap has made him clench hard on Lew’s cock, made his own cock desperate for release. He imagines what he must look like. Dressed in women’s panties, Lewis Nixon in a dress behind him, hands gripping his hips, taking him, making him bend and take it, making him beg - he can’t even begin to comprehend the depravity, can’t think about it as anything other than the hottest thing he’s ever experienced. “Yes,” he moans, feather-light, “yes, yes, god -“

“That’s good,” Lew says behind him, “good boy,” and if he didn’t know any better he’d swear that Lew sounded ragged too. “You going to finish for me, sweetheart?” comes that dangerous purr.

Dick nods, a shaky drop of his head.

“That’s good, very good,” and then Lew’s hands are on his cock and Lew is inside him and he’s trembling and despite the directive he’s crying out, and when Lew slaps him again he ruts and bucks his hips and comes into his panties, comes into Lew’s hand.

He’s still shaking a little, feeling tender, Lew still thrusting at him in a way that almost hurts but doesn’t, when Lew grabs his shoulders hard and groans and spills in him, and pulls free, wiping his cock on Dick’s panties, on Dick’s thigh.

“I can’t say I ever thought you’d want that,” Lew says, as Dick allows himself to collapse on the bed, feeling well-fucked and worn out, and knowing the come’s probably going to spill out of his ass and soak his panties - which is hotter than it should be, especially since he’s already seen what that looks like on someone else.

“Well maybe I’m not as predictable as you thought,” Dick counters, and shuffles over so Lew can flop beside him.

“Did you mean that?” Lew murmurs, again touching Dick’s face as if he can’t help himself. His fingers on his lips - it’s nice. His kiss - that’s even nicer.

“Did I mean what?”

Lew’s eyes are large, the pupils huge, as if he’s been drugged. Or just fucked so hard he’s still coming down from the high of it. “That I was beautiful.”

“Oh Lew,” Dick says, rising up to kiss him. “You are.”

“You mean it?” His dark lashes flutter, and he gazes at Dick with wonderment, as if he’s seeing him for the first time.

“Lovely as a girl, or guy or both,” Dick says. “I don’t care how you’re dressed, you’re beautiful.”

“You sure seemed to care about how I was dressed a minute before,” Lew says wickedly, but his smile is soft.

“You’re incorrigible, did you know that?” Dick snipes back, grinning. “You’re a danger to us both, and to yourself, because going around like that, all smart-ass, well, you just make me want to pounce on you and kiss you stupid. And if I do that in public, I can’t be held responsible.”

“Oh please,” Lew says. “You’re the most restrained guy I’ve ever met.” He smirks. “Except I’m the only one who gets to see you when you’re not. And now I know you have a weakness for panties.”

Guilty as charged, Dick wants to say, but all he can manage is a noise, before Lew continues down the same line of attack.

“Say, I have a fantasy we could do if you like.”

“Yeah?” Dick raises his eyebrows. He hopes Lew doesn’t have anything planned for now. He feels so wrung out that if he has another orgasm, he’ll probably end up asleep for a week.

Lew starts giggling before he’s even said anything. “It’s the one where I kiss you and you hump my leg.”

“You’ll never let me live that one down, will you,” says Dick, covering his face with his hand and groaning, holding it there a minute until he feels a hand on his, gently prising it away.

“I want to look at you,” Lew says, and nudges himself closer until he’s touching noses, eyes so close that everything’s blurring and all he can see is dark brows, dark eyelids, dark eyes. Then Lew draws back, strokes his face and sighs. “All this time you’re lavishing me with praise, and I feel bad for it.”

Don’t, Dick’s about to say, but he’s stalled by Lew’s look, so serious. So wondering. Lew looks at him, and from his scarlet lips there come the words.

“I guess I never told you how beautiful you are.”

He feels Lew’s hands on his face, closes his eyes and breathes, and the world is stillness.

**Author's Note:**

> Someone write an actual Lewis Nixon Whiffenpoofs acapella fic, I don't have it in me to do it. But as a jumping off point for drag shenanigans, yes please. 
> 
> Is Sex Necessary is a real book! I've yet to read it, but it was included as an Armed Services Addition and I think Lew would have found it funny.


End file.
